


Suspended

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Harry, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Don't move.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suspended

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, unless you count me showing snippets that were worded a little funny to [](http://nikita-80.livejournal.com/profile)[nikita_80](http://nikita-80.livejournal.com/), while I sat here typing it. This is college computer lab fic at its best.

When he awoke, he was lying on a mostly comfortable couch, and his clothing was missing. He was draped in a red sheet, which he thought was at once abhorrent and amusing, because red did nothing for his complexion and he had always been rather unimpressed with the Hogwarts house with which the color was associated. And his nose itched.

"Don't move," Harry said, as if he'd noticed an indication that he was going to move when the muscles in his shoulder tensed minutely.

And so, of course, he moved just to spite him, taking extra care to make a show of scratching his nose before returning his hand to his side and smirking insolently. "I can't believe you're still not done. And you stole my trousers," he said.

"I didn't steal them. You fell asleep, so I folded them up and put them just on that chair, there." Harry gestured toward the chair with charcoal-smudged fingers. "And anyway, I thought this pose was better for my assignment."

He rolled his eyes. "It's not a class, so it's not an assignment. The old sod running this place just requested that you expend your angst before you blow up an unsuspecting first-year, and that you take it out on me." He narrowed his eyes. "Did he threaten _you_ with expulsion if you decided not to partake of this little art project?"

"... no," Harry said. "But that's only because he likes me." Behind the easel, he was doing something to the paper with a bit of white chalk. "And I wouldn't exactly call letting you fall asleep while I attempt to make this blob of black-and-white on the paper look something like you, 'taking my angst out on you'. I mean, I'm the one who has to come face-to-face with you, all naked. I can't believe you're comfortable like that."

"Because you're uncomfortable," he finished, and the smirk stretched into a grin. "I'm perfectly comfortable with my gorgeousness, even if you and your little band of Mudblood hero-worshippers aren't." The grin settled back into its natural form when he heard the chalk snap.

"You know that the more you talk like that, the more likely it is that Dumbledore will have you pose for _another_ picture," Harry said finally, and he picked up a new piece of chalk. He stood back from the portrait and eyed it critically. "Something's missing," he said finally, and tilted his head.

"I might volunteer my services directly, except that this bloody sheet is giving me a rash on my knees. 200-thread count fabric is _horrid_ for my skin." He shifted minutely.

Harry frowned, then sketched a bit. "I've got it," he said after a moment's deliberation. "Lie still for just a moment longer."

"Yes, O Hero," he replied, and struggled not to let loose the full-body wriggle that he'd been containing for the last half-hour. "How long's a moment?"

"Longer if you don't be quiet and let me concentrate," Harry said.

There was silence but for the skritching of charcoal on paper for a moment. And then the soft hiss of tape being removed from the drawing board filtered to his ears, followed by a light rustling of paper.

"Finished," Harry said.

He wrapped himself in the sheet, uncomfortable as it was, because it was rather chilly in the room, and he didn't fancy letting it all hang out at that particular moment. "Let me see," he said.

"I don't think -- "

"It's a picture of _me_ , so I should be able to see the finished product, Potter." He shuffled across the room and stopped before Harry, one hand extended to take the picture. "Give it over."

Wordlessly, Harry handed him the picture.

"Well, Potter," he said. Then he studied it. "It's absolute crap. What kind of title is _Suspended_ , anyway? And my nose isn't that big, and my mouth is much more luscious and full than the straight line you drew here. And... whose arm is that around my -- bloody hell, you gave me _child-bearing hips._ "

Harry put his hands behind his back. "So you don't like it?" he asked. Almost as if it mattered to him.

He snatched one of Harry's hands, then compared it to the one in the picture. "Aha! That's _your_ hangnail marring my beautiful abdomen."

Harry blushed.

"Well, well, Potter. Whyever didn't you say something?"

"I'm not a huge fan of making an enormous fool of mymmph," Harry said.

Much later, he asked, "This whole thing was your idea, wasn't it? I bet you marched up to Bumblebore, said, 'I think I have a good, therapeutic idea that will keep me from killing myself before Tall, Pale, and Creepy gets to, and it involves getting Draco Malfoy naked. So that I can see if he's got the Dark Mark, of course.' And he agreed. Right?"

"I left out the naked part," Harry said, and he straightened his shirt a bit. "And as for the Dark Mark, where are you hiding it?"

"In my arse, Potter. Want to find it?"

Harry gaped.

With a laugh, he kissed him again.


End file.
